


Earth is a No Fly Zone

by Caslock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caslock/pseuds/Caslock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2188, Earth is sharing its lands with Angels, who seem to have appeared out of nowhere. Now, humans and Angels are attempting to eradicate their own offspring and it's up to Dean Winchester, his brother Sam, and Castiel to rally the hybrids to try and save them. Multi-chapter, definitely a work in progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is my first attempt at writing something with a decent plot line. If you want to get more regular updates from me (since I write at sporadic times) you can always follow me on tumblr: iwentnorthdowneasthastings.tumblr.com  
> All of this isn't beta'd, so all mistakes are my own. If anyone would like to beta upcoming chapters, let me know! Thanks for reading.

The tanks rolled along dirty patches of snow, crushing whatever was left of the ice into a fine crystal. Three months ago, Russia decided it wanted to play chicken with the United States of America again. They waggled around the fact that they had hundreds of missiles and at least four warheads that could wipe Rhode Island off America s smirking face. Since their dick waving, the United States began turning the Fourth Cold War into World War V. A handful of sociology experts had been brought together to discuss the name of the war. Talk was had about just using Three as the suffix, but a few members said why not just use the letter V? It was sleek, modern, and could stand for Victory .

Such was the way of the United States of America in 2192.

In 2095, Planet Earth was graced with the presence of the angels. Huge, winged beasts that popped out of the ground without a clue as to how they got there. The angels looked as though they were made of splinters and cables. In the bigger angels, their wingspan went over twelve feet, their wings anchored into their shoulder blades with large tendons. The human race, not privy on such occurrences, were unable to eat, fight, or enslave them. They were too stringy to feast on. Their dexterity and fierce nature made them formidable foes. So humans did the only other thing they were good at.

They bred with them.

In the year 2167, the year Dean Winchester was born, there was already a booming population of half angels. The offspring of the humans and angels who'd taken to knocking boots rather than heads were slowly becoming rejected by the purebloods on either side. Instead, the hybrids took to their own communities, usually in isolated bits of forest or desert. There were a substantial amount of pure humans and angels who wanted society to accept their kin as normal and decent, but the more detestable humans found them either too strange or frightening.

Which was odd, because the hybrids looked more like humans than their angel counterparts. While the angels had skin the color of a boring blue sky when it s just a bit hazy but you can still tell that it s too hot to go outside with a coat on, the hybrids usually had the skin color of their human parent. The angels were much scarier, which is the biggest reason the World Government had taken them under their wing, a phrase that warrants many jokes indeed. The hybrids were a direct effect of the angels barging in on their world, and they were much easier to hate with their perfect skin, slightly pointed white teeth, and a collective tendency to have stupidly attractive cerulean eyes.

In the sovereign state of Kansas, things weren't looking too good. Oklahoma and Nebraska had patched up relations for just long enough to take back Kansas for the United States of America. As fate would have it, Dean was fighting on the losing side, per the usual. He was walking home from base camp, their acting Captain had sent him home to watch after his brother, Sam. Sam was seventeen years old but was getting much taller than his older brother. As a child, he d wanted to be a lawyer of sorts, but after the war started, he found a hidden talent that would prove to be much more useful. He d begun spending all of his time in the medical tents, learning from the healers there. In a matter of years, he d gained enough knowledge to help out with minor surgeries and do menial tasks on his own, such as triage and regular check ups. Dean couldn't have been prouder.

He rounded a corner and saw the silhouette of his house. It was a lopsided stack of wood, more of a shack than anything, but it kept him and Sam mostly warm and dry. They lived on the outskirts of Lawrence, occasionally stealing into the woods to find fresh water or food. Their old estate had been burned to the ground about a year prior, effectively killing their parents and Sam s spirit. Dean was still fighting, tiredly and sometimes without result, but at least he was still going. Dean thought he wasn't good at much anything but looking down the scope of a rifle and blowing off some poor sap s head. In the worst of times, he couldn't even pick out his best qualities, let alone just one. He adjusted the burlap sack over his shoulder to a more comfortable position, the fire that had settled in his shoulder blade slowly ebbing away. He was young and strapping, but some days, the military just kicked the shit out of you. His dusty brown hair stuck up at odd angles, his sideburns framing his sturdy face. Bright green eyes peered out from unnaturally long lashes and freckles were bespattered across his nose and under his eyes. Needless to say, many men and women had tried their advanced, only to be shot down immediately. Dean didn't have the time to invest in someone, unless it was Sam.

It was this evening that Dean would come home to his brother to deliver unpleasant news. In a few weeks, they would be invaded by Oklahoma and Kansas. Sam would most likely be forced into volunteering at the first aid station, while Dean would be thrown onto the front line. Lawrence had held out for many years, but now it was time. Dean knew that this would be the sovereign state's final battle before it joined the United States of America once more. Neither of the boys knew what would happen to them if they were captured.

The day of the battle arrived too soon. It was with a heavy heart Dean gave his brother a reassuring pat on the shoulder before retreating to the soldier s area to retrieve his weapons and armor. And so, on a cold night in 2189, with Sam volunteering in a shelter to help people who had been wounded on the field, Dean found himself in yet another compromising position: ass end of the battlefield with a rifle hastily shoved in his hands. The U.S. Forces weren't advancing any farther, but holding their position so the Lawrence platoon couldn't move. Grenades were lobbed into their bunkers and tents. Bullets were sprayed haphazardly over hastily constructed barricades. Dean chucked a grenade of his own over a wall, hearing it explode several seconds after a few men screamed.

Acting Captain Robert Singer was shouting orders to a group when a terrible screech was heard. It began as a low rumble that could only be felt in the marrow of one s bones before gaining decibels and turning into a steady whine. Three B-52s scorched across the sky in less than a second, followed by a deafening blast. Dean followed their trail until they were lost in the gloom, only having to wait a few seconds before he heard the distance clout of several mini-bombs being dropped.

Thirty minutes after this, a white flag and a cease fire were called.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel Novak was a god damn knockout, even for a hybrid. He was twenty three years old, three weeks ago, and today was his official two year mark at the Academy. Two years ago, he stumbled onto the village of Orlovsky, a town that had only been around for a couple generations of hybrids. Newer villages such as this one were increasing across the northwestern expanse of Russia. All across the continent, and indeed the world, hybrids were being expunged from human-angel society to live on their own. Villages, and sometimes large towns, were being formed by the hybrids to accommodate their growing numbers.

Fifteen years ago, his parents had thrown him to the ball numbingly cold curb. This made him even more outlandish, seeing as how all other hybrids were usually exiled at the age of sixteen. Castiel learned to fend for himself, stealing food and supplies when he needed to, occasionally camping out in a shack. He had never made a friend in his entire life.  
Castiel didn t really remember his parents, only that his mother was an angel and his father was a human who had been an agent for the KGB, an ancient society that had been around for at least a hundred and fifty years. His mother was one of the first generation of angels to have appeared on Earth and as a result, occupied a minor position in the New World Government. Effectively, Castiel's parents were moderately ashamed of his presence. Not only was he an awful side effect of a similarly awful process (which, by the way, no decent human or angel should admit to taking pleasure in the act of inter-species sex), they were far too important and busy to raise a hybrid. At eight years old, Castiel left without a word.

He had accidentally stumbled upon Orlovsky one day in the winter, half frozen and half dead. The village had taken pity on him immediately, nursing him back to health and, when they realized his vast wealth of knowledge, gave him a job in the Academy as a teacher. As a result of his solitary upbringing, he lacked the social skills of his peers. He had managed to make one friend, a baker by the name of Gabriel. The rest of the town looked on him fondly, but didn't wish to try and engage him in any kind of conversation.

Orlovsky had taken Castiel in without a word. He was a hybrid, and therefore he was family. However, everyone gave him a wide berth whenever he came around, which wasn't actually very often. Castiel had no concept of sarcasm, humor, or irony. He took sayings at their literal meaning, getting him into trouble more times than not. Needless to say, he discontinued his social escapades after one incident where Castiel tried to hunt down a well dressed woman who he thought was a serial killer, due to all the men saying, She s trying to kill me whenever she walked by.

The final bell of the day had the children scrambling to get out the door, their little wings flapping frantically. Castiel smiled at a particularly rotund child, who looked more like a cherub than an angel. The child smiled brightly and waved as he disappeared out of the door, no doubt heading to the park.

After the children had left, Castiel leaned back in his chair and stretched his wings to their full extent, relishing the relief it brought to his aching muscles. He was looking forward to a relaxing weekend, since this week had been fraught with difficulty. The United States of America had been sending out ominous, vague half-threats to the rest of the world, as if the New World Government would turn a blind eye to it. But the thing that had worried Castiel the most was, they had been. The New World Government hadn't even looked up from its paper.

America had most recently sent out a message to all corners of the Earth about the state of hybrid affairs. About how they weren't welcome in society. About how some illnesses needed to be purged. Castiel had no idea how it had come to this. Perhaps the angels had something to do with it. He ran his hands over his face and shook himself mentally. He was going to enjoy his weekend, he wanted no truck with whatever the state of affairs the world was in. He stood, donned his tan trenchcoat, a gift from Gabriel, and began to head home.

Halfway there, Gabriel skipped up beside him, whistling something Castiel couldn't recognize and snacking on a cupcake.

"Why aren't you at work?" Castiel asked in a voice like a cement truck. The Old Russian accent was gone, replaced with a much subtler one; less "r" rolling and more pronunciation in all the right places. Everyone in the New World spoke English. Granted, most of it was a clipped, colloquial version with various accents tacked on depending on where you were, but no matter where in the world you went, everyone could understand you. Gabriel offered him a different cupcake which had apparently just appeared out of thin air. Castiel declined the offer and Gabriel shrugged, throwing it in his mouth.

"Boss gave me the day off," he practically sang through a mouthful of vanilla, "he says just in case those Republican cows invade, he wants to be prepared." Gabriel threw his brother a sarcastic dark look. Castiel said nothing, choosing to roll his eyes at his friend's idea of humorous situations.

"So come on Cassie," Gabriel pestered, now pulling a bag of what looked like mini truffles from his coat, "let's do something fun tonight! You never get out." Castiel glanced sideways, watching his friend all but shovel the candies in his mouth. He smiled to himself. He didn't necessarily like being around people, but just hanging around one person, especially one as interesting and unpredictable as Gabriel was very nice.

"I think I might read tonight," Castiel said thoughtfully. Gabriel scoffed over dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest.

"Oh please," he said, clapping his poker faced friend on the shoulder, live a little! You never go out with me. He skipped so that he was walking backwards in front of Castiel, putting on a frown for show. Castiel blew his breath out through his nose and narrowed one eye at the pitiful man before him. It just went to show that of all the people he could have picked for a friend, he picked the most charming and outgoing hybrid of the entire village, whereas he was exactly the opposite. He tended to become overwhelmed with other personalities, preferring the company of less exorbitant dispositions. Gabriel had proven to be the exception of all rules.

Castiel sighed in defeat, knowing his friend wouldn't stop pestering him until he was sold on the idea of having his idea of fun that night.

"Fine," Castiel sighed, "but only for a little while."

Gabriel whooped and threw the rest of the truffles in his mouth before jetting back to his place, his mocha wings flapping out behind him as he ran.

Several hours, two bottles of vodka, and eight beers later, Castiel and Gabriel were decidedly tipsy, arms slung across each others shoulders, singing loudly and out of tune to an old American song with the rest of the crowd in the pub. It was a stupendous song to drink and subsequently sing to, regardless of the fact that no one these days could tell you what a wonderwall actually was.

When the song was over, most of the crowd began singing another classic, an old piece that encouraged the listener to never stop believing. In what, no one ever found out. The two hybrids, knowing that this was the song that emboldened even the drunkest of young women, decided that it was time for some fresh air and proceeded to exit.

They stumbled their way to the doorway and once outside, Gabriel clung to his friend for support. They sat down on a bench, their coats huddled around them. While they had been celebrating inside, the sky had decided to begin snowing, sending cascades of white flecks on everything in sight. Even after living in the snow his whole life, there were still some things whose beauty Castiel couldn't deny.

Castiel drew out a worn silver case, offering a cigarette to his friend who accepted eagerly, then instantaneously forgot about it. Castiel chuckled and lit his, letting the smoke fill his body and tingle his nerves.

"Cassie," he heard Gabriel start to slur, but Castiel shushed him.

"Don't even worry," he managed to get out, "I'm glad you... dragged... drug me out, no, it s dragged," he paused to giggle, "tonight. I had a lot of fun, Gabe."

Gabriel nodded wisely before puking on the frozen sidewalk.

Castiel quickly moved his shoes out of the splash zone, sniggering lightly and patting his friend on the back. He was enjoying himself, for the moment. The times he actually wanted to be around people were few and far between, so he had to take advantage of those times. Gabriel was always understanding of Castiel's moods. There was just a limit on the social interaction Castiel could take, and no one understood that better than Gabriel.

"Cassie,: Gabriel tried again, wiping his mouth and failing to light his cigarette, "why don't you try to make any friends?" Castiel's smile slowly faded from his face, replacing itself with a more serious expression.

"No one in this town is genuinely interested in me," he replied softly, leaning forward to help Gabriel with his cigarette. Gabriel murmured his thanks before leaning back, sighing in contentment.

"I'm sure some would," he said, "if you'd just give them a chance." He shifted on the bench a bit, apparently in deep thought. "What about that guy I set you up with a few months ago?"

Castiel scoffed. "That man made me question my faith in you, Gabe," he divulged. "He couldn't tell me who the leader of the village was."

Gabriel chortled at this, almost losing his cigarette, blanket, and the remainder of what was in his stomach. "You're kidding!"

The older hybrid shook his head, a goofy grin on his face. "And that woman," he continued, as if just remembering, "that woman you said was even prettier than the Commisare Tatyana?" (Commisare Tatyana was the most recent angel caught in Russian political scandals. She was a beautiful creature, eyes like smoke in a forest fire, wings that looked more like they were made out of crystals than feathers. Unfortunately, her game was up when they found her blowing the Prime Minister behind the stage where he was set to give the greatest motivational speech since the days of Vladmir Putin. The Prime Minister's wife was not entirely tickled at the turn in events and proceeded to delve into the Commisare's back story, finding out that she was no more than a rent-angel for high class politicians. Disregarding her shady background, she was taken under the United States of America's proverbial wing as an actress. She lives in the Second Coming of California as a promising new starlet.)

"Hey, she was pretty hot," Gabriel countered. Castiel threw him a skeptical look. "Alright so maybe I had been drinking a... tiny bit," he said quickly, not wanting Castiel's unwavering look to permeate his thoughts any more than it already had. He had a way of making Gabriel tell him the truth whether he wanted to or not. They began to giggle drunkenly, which hastily turned into outright laughter.

A rustle in the woods caught Castiel's attention. Instantly, he was sober. It was a magic trick he had picked up from his life growing up in the woods. One had to be prepared for anything at any time. Tossing his cigarette aside, he half stood, resulting in a strange, predatory position. His arms were slightly outstretched, fingers twitching. The rustling grew louder and this time, Gabriel looked up, his eyes unfocused, but still alert.

"What the he-" Gabriel started.

"Quiet," Castiel cut in, bringing a finger to his lips, which were becoming chapped in the cold. The once indistinct noise had shaped itself into the sound of uneven footsteps. Castiel froze, not sure of what was in there. No animal he'd come in contact with walked upright, however, and now the rumors of invasion suddenly wormed their way into his head.

Presently, a young man emerged from the underbrush. His face was unrecognizable in the dark, but Castiel could see the multitude of scratches that covered it. In his arms was an unconscious boy, hair matted with snow. The hybrids recoiled slightly when they saw that the men were wearing U.S. Forces uniforms.

Once on the street, the young man stopped, swaying precariously with his balance on his left foot. Castiel passively thought that the man s ankle might be twisted, but then the he dropped to his knees, the boy rolling out of his arms unceremoniously. He tried to catch his breath, though most of it was stuck in his throat, coming out as ragged wheezes from the cold. The boy abruptly smiled, staring at Castiel very strangely indeed. Castiel stood up straighter and tilted his head quizzically at the new development.

"Thank God I made it," the young man coughed through the shambles of his throat before collapsing in the snow.


	3. Chapter 3

When Kansas was reclaimed for the United States of America, all rebel forces were captured and forced into the U.S. Forces to fight. Sam and Dean Winchester were among the last to be taken and sent to a base off of the dwindling coastline of Florida. Most Americans were under the impression that there wasn't much fighting to be done on foreign soil, so joining the military was a safe thing to do. The U.S. Forces promised starving families that they would be fed if they sent their young and fit to join them for a minimum of two years. As such, about half the population was currently enrolled. The United States of America was glad that the masses solidly believed they were in a time of peace.

Once Sam had been trained in the art of modern medicine and Dean had spent three years in what amounted to a glorified gym, they were deemed fit for duty and shipped off to Russia.

By a stroke of incredible luck, they were stationed in the same place. Perhaps not so incredible, since the U.S. Forces needed as many good men in the location as they could spare. They were at a camp in the northwestern-most region of Russia, and indeed the Asian continent. The middle of nowhere could not have been more accurate. The Winchesters were here for several months building what amounted to a gigantic fort. Dean hated it, mainly because it didn't seem like it would ever stop snowing.

Within the first month, the troops were already spreading rumors of invasion. As it went, word had leaked that this outpost was a gateway into the region of Russia that housed the majority of the world's hybrid population. The United States of America had struck a deal with Russia to get rid of all of them, effectively doing their dirty work. Only a handful of people believed these, however, since America had done nothing but coddle the hybrids since their infancy.

Looking back on that night, Dean couldn't tell you how it went pear shaped so quickly.

Dean and Sam were having a beer in the barracks, enjoying the quiet evening. The past week had kicked their ass hard. They had done more work in the past five days than the past three months combined. Dean was lounging on his bed, beer bottle in hand, one arm behind his head. His eyes were closed and he was humming indistinctly. Sam was sitting on the bed adjacent, just staring into nothing. He was thankful the rest of the troops were in the mess hall drinking; he preferred a quieter atmosphere. Dean, however, just didn't like anyone else. He opened his eyes slowly and sighed, sitting up and swinging his feet off the bed.

"So what do you think, Sammy?" he asked gruffly. Pretty much anything that came out of Dean's mouth was gruff. While he didn't do it on purpose, it put many people on edge with him. Sam had long since worked passed it to see the tones of genuine concern in his brother's voice.

"About what?" Sam asked, entirely aware of what Dean meant. In stark contrast, Sam's voice was lighter, gentler than his brother's. As a kid, he had been scrawny and pale. At the age of sixteen, he shot up faster than lightning. He was now a foot taller than his older brother and just a little less stocky. To his Captain's dismay, Sam had let his brown hair grow past his ears, resulting in a style that caught the attention of most people in the outpost. If he hadn't been the best healer in the place, his head would have been shaved a long time ago.

"Do you think the rumors are true?" Dean asked, looking around for eavesdroppers.

"If they are, you know the plan," Sam replied. "I'm getting the hell out of here." Dean nodded, admiring his brother's courage. Even thinking about deserting a post of the U.S. Forces was punishable by many things, the worst and most common being death. To actually do it was another story. Sam and Dean had thought long and hard about what they would do if their outpost really was just a rallying point for the coming invasion. The brothers had known something was going on with the American government from the beginning; it had been the driving force behind their move to Kansas.

The door to the barracks creaked open, making both men jump. Luckily, it was Jo Harvelle that walked through, carefully shutting the door behind her and creeping up to them. When she sat down next to Sam, they could see her face was pale and her hands were shaking.

"What's wrong, Jo?" Dean asked, setting his beer down on the end table. She was shaking her head, her eyes welling up dangerously. She looked back and forth between the two before bursting into tears. Sam wrapped one of his branch-like arms around her, patting her shoulder. He chanced a strange look at Dean, who just shrugged.

When she had caught her breath and her sobs turned into light tears, Dean handed her a beer, which she accepted gratefully.

"So what happened?" Sam asked. "Is everything okay?" Jo twisted the cap off her drink and downed it easily.

"No," she finally said, wiping her eyes, "you two have to get out of here, you have to leave!" Her voice was increasing with every word and Dean had to hold up a hand to calm her down.

"Just tell us what happened," he said calmly. Sam looked more worried. She drew a deep breath and collected herself before continuing.

"Me and Vakarian were sneaking out of the mess hall to those barracks that no one ever uses," she began. Dean opened his mouth to say something about his thoughts on the particular Private she chose, but was silenced by a look from Sam. "When we looked inside, we saw... Captain Walker and a few of his men were in there already." Immediately, the brothers were on edge.

"What was he doing?" Dean asked.

"He had a hybrid with him," she whispered as if she didn't even believe herself, "he was really small, tied up in the middle of the room. Walker was yelling at him, trying to get the hybrid to tell him where his village was. The hybrid was crying, they couldn't get a word out of him. Walker hit him a few times, but we left right after he pulled out his knife." Dean's face became void of all expression.

"This hybrid," he began, dragging his boots toward him, "how small was he?"

"If I didn't know any better," Jo said, biting her lip, "I'd say he was a child." Dean nodded, his lips set in a tight line. Once his boots were laced, he stood up and headed towards the door.

"Dean, where are you going?" Sam called after him, jumping up quickly and grabbing his boots as well.

"I'm going to find that son of a bitch," Dean started calmly, turning to his brother and Jo, "and I'm going to kill him. Simple as that."

"Don't be an idiot, Dean," Jo snapped, turning to face him, "you know there's nothing you can do to stop Walker."

"So what do I do then?" Dean cried. "You want me to just sit here while he tortures kids?"

"Jo, he's kind of right," Sam added gently, "we have to do something."

"Well you two are outmatched and outnumbered against these guys," Jo sighed, standing up, "so your best option would be to go to whatever village that kid was from and warn them."

Dean and Sam looked at each other for a brief moment before grabbing their packs and filling them with spare clothes and supplies.

"Any idea where this village is?" Dean asked, grabbing several bottles of water.

"Actually," Jo said, pulling something out of her pocket, "on my way here, I made a stop by Walker's office." She unfolded a sheet of paper and handed it to Dean, who took it curiously. His eyes widened when he saw that it was a map of the hundred mile radius that surrounded their camp. On it were several areas circled, all to the east of them.

"What are these?" Dean asked, pointing to the circle closest to them, which was only ten miles away.

"Well, I can only guess that Walker already knew the locations of the hybrid villages," Jo said quietly. Dean nodded darkly before shoving the piece of paper into his pocket and threw on his coat.

"Ready to go, Sammy?" he asked his giant of a brother.

"Let's go," he responded.

Checking his clip one last time, Dean stuck his pistol in the back of his pants and opened the door.

"Are you coming with us, Jo?" Dean asked.

"I'm going to stay here," she replied. Before he could protest, she added, "I'll find some others who believe us. I know my mom will and Ash has already talked to me about this. Don't worry. We'll catch up with you." Without another word, she hugged Sam, patted Dean on the shoulder, and sped off back towards her barrack.

The men snuck silently through the camp, thanking their lucky stars that everyone was piss drunk. Once they had passed the main gate, they sped up a little, following an old dirt path that quickly disappeared into the woods in front of them.

Suddenly, Dean stopped, throwing out his arm to catch Sam in the chest.

"Hear that?" he grumbled. Sam cocked his head and listened. Dean raised his gun, training it on a spot in the trees to their right while Sam slowly raised his machete, stepping around Dean to cover him.

A loud crack rang through the cold air and Sam crumpled before hitting the ground. Dean whipped his gun around and shot, hearing a muffled groan in the trees before the guard slumped down dead.

"Sammy!" Dean cried as quietly as he could. He dropped to his knees beside his brother, flipping him over.

"I'm fine," Sam managed to groan. Dean searched his body until he found the wound. He had been shot in the back of the knee. Typical, thought Dean. The U.S. Forces rarely shot to kill when encountered with soldiers going AWOL. They preferred to capture and then put on trial before executing them publicly. This was mainly to humiliate whatever remaining family the soldier had.

A siren began to wail in the direction of the camp and Dean looked up. Quickly, he ripped off his jacket and tied it around Sam's thigh before scooping the giant up and taking off into the woods as fast as his feet would allow.

Dean tried to pace himself while playing a twisted game of hopscotch with the frozen ground and roots below him. Soon enough, he could hear men shouting in the distance behind him. Assuming the men after him were in much better shape than he was and weren't burdened with a behemoth of a man, Dean found a large, fell tree that he slipped Sam and himself into. He crawled further into the hollowed out trunk, dragging Sam along with him. Once they were sufficiently hidden, he tried to catch his breath, placing a hand over Sam's mouth to indicate that now was a good time to be quiet.

Presently, the search party walked by. Dean tensed up involuntarily and squeezed his brother's hand. At this point, Sam was beginning to slip in and out of consciousness. The men in the party were talking quietly to one another. Dean could hear their footsteps around him.

"You fucks better be damn sure you find them or I'll skin you myself."

Dean recognized the voice to belong to Captain Gordon Walker. He swallowed thickly, feeling his heart rate quicken. If Captain Walker found them, Dean wasn't sure they would make it to the trial.

"Hey Cap, I don't think they went this way, look," came a voice. Thank fuck, Dean thought, recognizing the drawl as Ash. Jo must have pushed for him to be on the search party.

"God damn it," he heard Walker mutter, "you're right. Let's get back to camp. We'll find them soon enough on our way to Orlovsky. We can kill them then."

Dean thought he heard something that sounded like an axe being slammed into a tree before the men affirmed and, finally, the footsteps began to fade away. He let his breath out slowly and relaxed.

"Come on, Sam," he whispered, pulling his brother from the tree and into his arms once more.

He began trudging east again, towards what he now knew to be Orlovsky. He had never seen a hybrid before, but knew them to be just as varied as humans, except they all had blue eyes and a set of wings that normally matched their hair color. He tried not to picture the small hybrid child that Walker had been torturing but failed. His mind conjured up a chubby kid with freckles and small reddish wings. He shook his head and began talking to Sam, who had long since passed out.

After about an hour, Dean's arms were almost frozen. The heat his body was radiating from walking was only a small comfort, but it was most likely keeping him from freezing to death. It had begun to snow softly, covering everything in the woods with a fine white powder. Little flurries had attached themselves to his eyelashes and hair. His boots kept slipping in puddles beneath him, soaking through to his socks. He forgot when he could last feel his toes. Slowly, a light began filtering through the trees before him, making him grin like a fool.

"Look, Sammy," he wheezed, "we made it!"

Dean tramped out of the woods, stumbling through the underbrush outside it and almost losing balance on the suddenly even ground. He found himself on the edge of a stone street that was rapidly becoming covered in snow. On the other side of the street were two hybrids, the first ones that Dean had ever seen.

The hybrid on the left was sitting down, a cigarette hanging limply from his lips. His dark eyes were fixed on Dean with a mixture of wariness and curiosity. His light chocolate colored wings hung loosely from his back, the tips drifting along the ground. The hybrid on the right, however, was the one that caused him to question his faith in the human race.

Dean Winchester was not a poetic man. If asked to describe the night sky, he would simply respond with 'dark' or 'why the hell should I do that?'. Immediately, however, he stopped himself from using the word hybrid for this creature, who was instead obviously an angel of the Lord Himself, sent to Dean personally for the sole sake of reaffirming His existence. There was a fire in the man's eyes that burned a bright cerulean, inexplicably visible in the low light coming from the street lamp behind them. His expertly crafted face was set in a scowl, one that was not meant to be unfriendly, but one that was simply there because that's where it ought to be.

Dean Winchester also knew what words were. He wasn't a master of the English language, but he knew enough to get him through the day, or enough to convince a woman to come with him for the evening. Now, he suddenly couldn't find any. The sight of the man's wings simply stole the ground from beneath him. Dean could see them trembling slightly, either from cold or nerves. The feathers trembled slightly, fading from a deep black to just-after-sunset-in-Florida-and-now-it's-time-to-drink-on-the-beach mahogany. The shift made Dean's eyes blur slightly.

Dean fell to his knees before him, Sam unceremoniously rolling out of his arms. The rest of the man was fading quickly. Dean could just make out the outline of a tan trench coat swirling around his legs like a banner. He smiled up at his angel, whose head was now encircled with a golden halo of light from Heaven itself. It was, more logically, from the street lamp behind him, but Dean wanted no truck with logic at the moment. He felt relief coming in waves as the angel suddenly relaxed his predatory pose and looked down at Dean with interest.

"Thank God I made it," he said softly before promptly passing out.

Castiel was still present by Dean's side when Gabriel dropped in early the next morning. He exhaled a breath that he'd been holding in for hours and looked at his friend, a tired smile steadily in place. Castiel was fixing him with a worried look, his bloodshot eyes barely staying open.

"It looks like the kid is gonna be fine," he said quietly. Castiel nodded and wiped his face with both hands.

"But," Gabriel continued and Castiel stopped, his hands partially covering his face, "he was shot right through the kneecap. The whole thing was shattered."

Castiel stared into nothing, letting his hands fall to his lap.

"He won't be able to walk again," he muttered, mostly to himself.

"He might," Gabriel tried to sound reassuring. "I mean, we're not Moscow Medical, but we've certainly had to deal with worse."

When Sam had been carried in by Gabriel the night previous, the young man's knee had been shot clean through. If not for the hasty tourniquet and the cold, he may have lost it. As it stood, the Hospital of Orlovsky had been able to replace the now useless knee cap with a steel one. The small hospital didn't have the technology of Moscow Medical, but at least they still had fantastic painkillers.

Castiel had seen to Dean. Once he had passed out, Gabriel had rushed to collect Sam and cart him off to the hospital. Castiel leaned down on one knee next to Dean and looked at him for a short moment before lifting him gingerly, using his wings to balance the sudden addition of weight. On the trip back to his house, Castiel noted several things. The man was dressed in U.S. Forces gear but was clearly not in any kind of official party. Add the fact that his companion had been shot from behind, Castiel was forced to conclude that the two men had deserted their post and had wandered inadvertently to Orlovsky.

Satisfied with his deduction, Castiel gently deposited Dean into his own bed, fitting him with sheets. The hybrid brought a vial of medicine from his bathroom and slid his hand underneath the man's neck, gingerly forcing it upright. He slowly tipped the contents down Dean's throat and made sure he had swallowed before laying his head back on the pillow. Castiel then sat in a chair beside the bed and did not move until morning.

Gabriel stood and put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"This one will be perfectly fine," he said. "That medicine you gave him will knock out any sickness he may have picked up last night." Castiel nodded, still staring at Dean, and Gabriel walked out.

Dean woke up several hours later. At the first sign of movement, Castiel was on his feet next to him, his hand making its way to Dean's forehead feeling for any sign of fever.

"Where the hell..." Dean struggled to make his voice loud enough. He coughed several times and tried to sit up, but the hybrid pushed him back into the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked monotonously. Dean blinked a few times and took in his surroundings. Right in front of him was the ridiculously magnificent creature he was sure he had hallucinated. The backdrop of the room was fuzzy and made him feel sick, so he instead focused on the man. His eyes were narrowed and he was looking at Dean, his brow furrowed with what looked like worry. His wings weren't splayed behind him like they were the night before, either, but they stretched out around the two of them in what looked like a gesture of protection.

"Where's Sammy?" he said, choosing to ignore his own health for the time being. The angel was obviously flustered at the change of subject but kept quiet.

"He's alive," Castiel answered. Dean looked at him.

"'Alive'?" he repeated. "What happened to him?"

Castiel set his lips in a fine line, letting his hand come to rub the side of his face which was already becoming thick with stubble. He had no idea how to engage someone in a decent conversation, let alone tell them that their friend would most likely be unable to walk again.

"Our village hospital repaired what they could," he said, "but it is unlikely he will walk normally without extensive physical therapy."

Dean exhaled heavily, letting his shoulders slump.

"Thank you," he said, "for my brother." Castiel's eyes widened at this. He had been certain that the man would begin to lash out, as most humans did. This human, however, was extending his hand towards Castiel.

"I'm Dean Winchester," he said, flashing the angel with a nearly perfect set of teeth. The angel looked at the proffered hand with interest, unable to discern what Dean was trying to accomplish.

"My name is Castiel Novak," he said, taking Dean's hand carefully, feeling calluses slide against his own rough hands. "I'm the one who carried you here from Perdition." Dean blanched.

"I'm sorry, where?" he asked.

"You collapsed outside a tavern that is named Perdition," Castiel explained. Dean nodded in understanding, unable to fathom why someone would name a bar after something so terrible.

"Well I guess I have to thank you for that, too," he said, slowly sitting up. This time, Castiel didn't try to stop him. There was a note of something undetectable in Dean's voice that the angel couldn't place. This was partially because Castiel had never experienced an actual conversation with a human in his entire life. All of his encounters had been with angry farmers or shopkeepers who were threatening to kill him. Because of this, Castiel had inadvertently pegged all humans as cold hearted and quick to anger, but here was one that was thanking him for basically nothing. Suddenly, a fact from the night before resurfaced in Castiel's mind.

"Your uniform," he said suddenly, making Dean jump. His voice hadn't rose, or even changed for that matter, but it now took on a slight edge. He was sure Dean wouldn't attack him, but being faced with an unknown allegiance made him uncomfortable. His wings retracted and his hands curled into fists. Dean, noticing this, held up his hands slightly.

"Hey, it's cool," he said quickly, "you can trust me, I promise." Castiel seemed to realize his unintentional wariness and relaxed.

"I apologize for my reaction," he mumbled, reddening a little, "I acted out of ignorance." Dean grinned again.

"I hear you," he said amiably. "Hell, I wouldn't trust me either." He sat up straighter, wincing at the stiffness in his limbs. "But hey, listen," he began, "me and my brother Sam came here to warn you guys. We need to get everyone out of this city by tomorrow."

"You expect a thousand of us to be gone within the day?" Castiel asked, raising his eyebrows at the statement.

"Listen, I know it sounds impossible," Dean said, "but we're gonna help you guys, I promise."

"Help us with what?" Castiel asked again. "What are we running from?"

Dean sighed and decided to start over.

"I'm from a camp about ten miles west of here," he started, "last night we found out that our camp's captain has been torturing hybrids to get the location of this village. We think he's planning on wiping out every hybrid village on his way to Novgorod. Which we think he's going to obliterate."

Castiel frowned at this. Novgorod was the biggest settlement of hybrids on the Asian continent. If it were wiped off the map, it would kill hundreds of thousands of hybrids.

"Why do you want to help us?" Castiel asked. Dean choked out a laugh because he couldn't cry in front of the man.

"Why?" Dean repeated before sighing heavily. "I've been fighting with my country's government since the day I was born because they've turned into the sorriest sons of bitches on planet Earth." He looked at the hybrid with pity. "They want to kill you guys because you're different."

"We are not so different from humans," Castiel countered.

"Yeah but you're not as pants-shittingly terrifying as the angels," Dean said, "and they don't like them either." Castiel nodded, unable to dispute this fact. He stood up.

"If what you say is true, then I must inform our Chief," Castiel announced. Dean threw the covers away and swung his legs off the bed, his head spinning. Castiel caught him by the shoulders to steady him. Dean looked up, their faces inches apart. Castiel hastily moved away and grabbed something from beside the dresser.

"You're still too weak to walk without aid," he said, bringing a wooden walking stick to Dean. He took it graciously, nodding his thanks. It was old and worn, carved with intricate markings from top to the bottom, which ended in a strange claw shape.

"What kind of wood is this?" Dean asked, carefully standing up. Castiel looked back from the doorway and smiled sadly.

"It's from a Chosenia tree," he replied. He held the door open for Dean, who hobbled through. Castiel shut the door and together they headed down the street.


	4. The Chosenia Tree

Vladivostok sat in the very center of the Administrative District of Primorsky Krai, the hub of all angelic-human relations. Since its founding almost three hundred years prior, it had expanded to cover the entirety of the Muravyov-Amursky Peninsula, making it the largest city in Far East Russia. It was surrounded by the Amur Bay to the west and the Ussuri Bay to the East. To the South, the Zolotoy Rog bridge spanned across the Eastern Bosphorus, connecting it with Russky Island. This is where Castiel Novak was born.

He grew up mainly in his father's house, a gigantic empty mansion that overlooked Peter the Great Bay. His father begrudgingly allowed him quarter there, leaving him alone for weeks at a time. Castiel's mother lived on the main peninsula in the heart of Vladivostok. Since his birth, she had seen him once and that was during. Hours after his alarmingly abrupt entrance into the world as we know it, she had fled back to a meeting that she'd taken leave from that morning. His father only saw her once a year during the Great Session, when all important political figures of Far East Russia came to Vladivostok to figure out where they'd left off the prior year.

Castiel rarely ventured out of his home. In fact, he never had. He enjoyed a wonderful view of the city from the many balconies, but had never left. Most of his time was spent in the library. He would make forts from blankets and stack books upon books in piles around him and spend the entire night reading. Sometimes the maid would find him in the early hours of the morning passed out in the spine of a book and would lift him carefully to rest him on the sofa.

When he was smaller he read mostly history books, which was completely normal for a child his age, provided the child was for lack of a better word, an orphan with nothing but time on his wings. As he grew older, he began to branch out, so to speak, and picked up books about nature. The forests of Far East and Northern Russia were wild and unpredictable. It never ceased to snow or amaze the modern biologist and botanist, which were to say very few.

A week after no one remembered his eighth birthday, the little hybrid stole a hunting knife from his father's study and packed a bag of winter clothes, canned food, and several books detailing the important flora and fauna of his milieu. Waving to the maid who was currently polishing what could be either an ancient torture device or a television, Castiel strode out of his front door with supreme confidence.

Walking through Vladivostok was the single most terrifying thing that ever happened in Castiel's existence. Cars roared past him at the speed of light, people did basically the same thing. No one seemed to notice each other. He felt he should have installed his head on a swivel to see everything the city had to offer. Shops lined every corner, their windows filled with cakes, technology, vehicles, wing clippers, even things Castiel had never seen, let alone heard of before.

Many hours later, he had wandered slowly from the maze of buildings and into a tamer setting. There were mostly human families scattered around the huge town, but every once in a while, Castiel would spot a tiny, blue skinned angel, their miniscule wings far too small to lift them into the air. Since he had left Russky Island, he hadn't seen a single hybrid. In the city, no one stopped long enough to notice him, but here where the pedestrians were few and far between, he could see people and angels eyeing him with distaste. For the first time in his life, he felt the semblance of shame.

Fortunately, the suburban sprawl wasn't too large so Castiel took his place on the side of the M60 and headed north. He had studied enough maps to have committed the Russian continent and most things around it to memory. The only thing that remained hazy were the North and South American continents. Before his departure, Castiel had read an alarming amount of books that gave a general outline of how the angels came to be in this world. In the short amount of time they had shared the globe with the humans, already many social constructs were being torn down and replaced with new ones. Humans no longer hated each other because of race, gender identity, or sexual orientation. They had banded together to defend their race against the new one that had barged in.

Castiel still couldn't understand why the two races, who had inevitably created a third, shunned their offspring so diligently and without remorse.

Hybrid villages weren't marked on any human or angelic map worth its salt, so Castiel was travelling blindly, hoping to come across one on his own that would take him in. Luckily, he had inherited his mother's angelic endurance, so when the true winter months came to pass, he wasn't dead in a week.

One amazing thing had come out of his adventure, however. The wildlife didn't seem to hate him as much as his tomes had led him to believe. Quite the contrary, one fascinated reindeer actually crept up to the child while he was sleeping. While the broad, damp nose prodding at his cheek had woke him up and in turn startled the shit out of the poor animal, Castiel filed it under "small victory".

Within the next month, his small victories were dwindling. Almost out of food and unable to see an end to his trek, Castiel trudged through what seemed like mountains of snow, his wings wrapped tightly around him. He had mistakenly believed that simply studying the wilderness would fully prepare him to get through it with all fingers and toes intact. In fact, he wasn't sure he still had all of the aforementioned digits.

An evening in December presented itself as the worst night of Castiel's life. Snow whipped around in a silly drunken manner, stinging his face and encrusting his unruly mop of dark hair with icicles. He was, unsuccessfully, attempting to find a snow drift to curl into for the night and finding none. Soon, he stumbled out of the thicket of trees onto a behemoth clearing. To his left and right was the treeline, in front of him was a swirling void of grey snow that blurred the line between ground and sky. He dropped to his knees, accomplishing nothing because the snow was to his midriff at this point.

The worst day of his life had just asked him out to dinner, only to stand him up at the restaurant and call him later that evening, piss drunk and apologizing but it had found someone much more attractive.

After a few minutes had passed, he decided that he was in Purgatory, because he must have died. His wings crackled under the stress of Castiel attempting to furl them closer to his body.

Several hours later, he woke up confused, probably because he didn't ever remember going to sleep. Wincing as his eyes pried themselves open, he was met with an Amur Leopard sitting directly in front of him. This was surprising, as the Amur Leopard had gone extinct at least one hundred years ago. Castiel pushed himself up a little to get a better look. Despite his lack of feeling in at least seventy five percent of his extremities, he found himself incredibly curious. At his movement, the great cat stood and walked away into the blizzard, his paws barely making prints in the snow.

"Wait...!" Castiel tried to yell, his voice barely making it past the mucus in his throat. With great effort, he pulled himself out of the snow drift that had formed around him in his brief nap. Since he was probably dreaming anyway, he began to follow the leopard as it walked unhindered through the blizzard. For over an hour, Castiel waded through the snow, the cat occasionally looking back to see if the boy was still there, or to just sniff at something invisible.

Suddenly, the leopard disappeared and Castiel began to panic. In a few moments, his panic subsided when he realized it had only gone through a fence made of gigantic trees. In the dark, the tree wall was rendered invisible but once he had gone through it, his entire body started to thaw out.

It was pitch black outside so Castiel automatically assumed it would be just as dark in the thicket but was proven wrong as a faint blue light washed over him. It was still completely dark, but now he could just start to see the outlines of trees and bushes dotted around him. He was too tired to try and ponder where all this blue light was coming from, so he simply let his legs drop out from underneath him next to a cozy looking bush. He made himself think about the fact that he was now pegging bushes as "cozy" and proceeded to drift into the most comforting sleep he'd had in months.

. . .

After a slumber that seemed to go on for years after the modern world had fallen, Castiel woke up slowly as a wet nose drug itself across his ice-less face. He scrunched his eyes up and shook his head lightly, forcing the cold appendage to cease its attack.

He opened his eyes slowly and let them adjust to the new surroundings. After the blur dissipated, Castiel could make out more of the thicket he had stumbled in the night before. It was still dark, but not at nearly the same level it had been. Now it was more of a twilight gloom and it still had a faint tinge of blue to it. Trees and plants were placed sporadically around him as if they had planted themselves on their own. From simply scanning the area, Castiel could immediately identify at least three different types of plants that had either been endangered or gone extinct in the past hundred years. Some of them, to his astounding confusion, weren't even native to his homeland.

He sat up carefully, making sure he wasn't injured in any way, before spotting the cold nosed perpetrator.

"You!" he mumbled, spotting the leopard from the night before. "You brought me here, didn't you?" In response, the once extinct animal dove into a pile of soft leaves, burrowing itself in them snugly and poking its head out to look at Castiel. The hybrid giggled at it and stood up gingerly, wincing at the soreness in his legs.

The leopard quickly hopped out of its leaf fort at the movement and bounded away into the further reaches of what Castiel now called the Sanctuary.

It was warm here, perhaps maybe not as warm as Australia on a bright spring day, but warm enough to make Castiel believe it was the middle of summer back on his little island. He strolled through the trees, clearly in no hurry to leave and taking his time cataloging the different plants and animals he observed. When he ventured a glance skywards, he noticed the thick canopy the strange dominant trees had formed above them, miraculously keeping out the frigid weather. They had done the same thing on the sides, weaving themselves together to form a thick, impenetrable barrier against the forces of nature.

As he progressed deeper into the Sanctuary, the animals and plants were more abundant and diverse. Some species he recognized from his books, others were foreign to him. Without a doubt, however, there were some species residing here that had been lost to the world for decades, if not longer. Eager to find the source of this wonderful mystery, Castiel picked up his pace and followed the animals towards what he could only assume was the center of the thicket.

When a clump of almost white rocks appeared between a group of closely placed trees, Castiel knew he was at the center. Birds chirped happily above him, making their nests warmer, more comfortable. The ground below him was carpeted in a thick, soft layer of grass which struck Castiel as decidedly odd.

The rocks that Castiel had begun to climb over were Emperador Dark Marble, surprising him because he was sure they were in the Northeastern expanse of Russia and not Hubei, China. Once he had scaled the largest of them, he could see a gigantic pond, almost a small lake, just beneath him. The rocks had formed a semicircle around the pond itself, creating a small enclave beneath him. He scuttled down the formation and began to make his way around the shore, gaping in awe at the natural architecture.

Fish circled each other and leapt about in the shallow depths and lily pads dotted the calm surface. Here and there, camps of various wildlife had positioned themselves in optimal range of the pond. Though most of these animals were documented to sleep during the winter, or at least hole themselves up and shiver for the next few months, most of them seemed perfectly fine wallowing in the shallow pools and rolling around in the grass. Granted, it was a decent temperature, Castiel thought.

The most remarkable thing about the whole place wasn't the extinct animals, it wasn't the mysterious glowing blue trees that meshed into one to protect its inhabitants from the harsh cold, and it certainly wasn't the plants from all over the world that had come to form a community here in the Sanctuary. For sure, it wasn't the blades of grass that had thrust themselves upon the forest floor in spite of the ice encrusted ground outside. The strange enclave of rocks could be crossed off the list as well.

No, by far the most extraordinary thing about the place was the enormous tree that had planted itself in at the north edge of the pond. Its roots had splayed out from it and embedded themselves in the ground around it, spreading into the water and forming an exciting turf for turtles and ducks to play on. Its branches were wispy and completely covered in delicate light blue leaves that were pedaled around it and grazed the water lightly. The gargantuan topiary was of the same species that made up the Sanctuary and at this size, Castiel immediately identified it.

"Chosenia," he whispered to no one. He had read, briefly, about the history of the Chosenia. They had been overlooked by botanists for many years before finally in the 1900s, someone distinguished them as a separate species. In time, they unreasonably began to disappear. It was said that the trees were going extinct and no one knew or cared why. They were thought to have gone extinct at least fifty years ago, but no one had any evidence of this, and the world had larger matters to attend to besides the passing of an unremarkable tree.

Castiel approached the tree with care, holding his hand out on instinct. Based on the evidence that he had seen today, Castiel came to the conclusion that the Chosenia tree had banded together as a species to create a safe haven for all other endangered creatures. He reached the ancient tree and carefully placed his hand on the trunk, feeling rough bark underneath his palms.

At the touch, Castiel fell in love with everything. Every plant, every rock, every living thing, every fungi, every grain of sand on every beach was suddenly the most precious thing in existence because when you break it down, it's all there really is. Every wave that crashed against a rocky cliffside was a goddamn miracle. Every song a cricket played on its alarmingly long legs could be confused with the trumpets of heaven, if there was one. Planet Earth, and indeed the universe itself, was a masterpiece of epic proportions and Castiel intended to thoroughly thank the artist.

An overwhelming sadness shot through him after this epiphany. Castiel looked up at the tree in shock. This was the Chosenia's last Sanctuary and it had slowly been dying for the last few years. Its pond was drying up and its animals were steadily leaving to fend for themselves in the wild. It was not man's doing. The trees had found a way to cheat extinction by evolving faster than nature had intended them to. In doing so, however, the tree's existence had been spread much too thin and were dying out quicker than was originally planned. They were now spending the remainder of their days in peace, attempting to save what was left of their community.

For the next year, Castiel recorded the story of the Chosenia tree and the stories of life in the Sanctuary. When winter turned to spring, he took detailed notes of the flowers that bloomed and the fruits budding on the trees. He jotted down the unique markings on the baby leopards. New plants blossomed out in the open area beyond the center of the thicket.

In the summer, he dipped his feet in the pond and took notes on all the fish that nibbled on his toes. There were fish that loomed in great shadows below him, coy fish whose scales glimmered in the iridescent light, tiny minnows that swam dangerously close to Castiel's toes and nipped at them playfully before darting back to safety. He drew the shapes of the leaves that were now covering every tree that was struggling to effloresce like it never had before the next winter came.

Summer faded into fall and Castiel noted how many evergreens were in the coppice. He saw the bears scurrying off to find places to slumber before the cold weather hit. He wrote about the cats whose coats were beginning to turn white and the sudden absence of many birds. He observed the woven canopy of Chosenia start to wither away, leaving shrivelled blue flowers in their wake.

And in the winter, most of the animals had journeyed elsewhere and the Sanctuary was little more than a sparse clump of dying trees. The pond was beginning to freeze over and Castiel found his eyes prickling at the thought of the fish in there. The ancient tree in the center groaned with age, some of its branches becoming frozen in the ice below it. Its beautiful blue flora were scattered around it in piles.

On a cold morning, Castiel stood before it solemnly. All around them were dead trees and piles of snow. Flurries swirled around them, catching in the hybrids hair and eyelashes. His pack was full of a year's worth of new knowledge. His coat was pulled tight around him and his wings were spread proudly, a stark black contrast against the milieu. A crack above him rang out and Castiel stepped back suddenly. A large branch had thrown itself at the ground in front of him, six feet long and gnarled into a perfect walking stick. Castiel picked it up and held it with a sense of fondness. Somehow he could feel what was left of the tree in it.

He smiled at the dying tree and turned away, walking out of the thicket and back into the unforgiving cold outside.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This has taken forever to update. How am I doing? Is this flowing well? Anyways, thanks for sticking with this! <3

“What the hell do you mean we have to leave?”  
Gabriel was shouting at his friend in the corridor of Orlovsky Medical, garnering more than a few angry looks. Castiel looked at them apologetically and turned back to the fuming hybrid in front of him.  
“He claims the U.S. Forces are going to annihilate our villages,” Castiel explained calmly.  
“So some drop dead gorgeous boys stumble in and you just believe them without question?” Gabriel cried, “Cassie, I thought you were smarter than that.”  
Castiel shifted uncomfortably and looked at the ground as if had the answers he needed. “I never said they were dr-“  
“Shut up, I know,” Gabriel stopped him and ran a hand through his hair. He looked through the tiny window of the Winchester’s room. “What makes you so sure we can trust them?”  
“You’re saying he shot himself through the back of his knee?” Castiel asked.  
Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck and finally nodded in agreement.   
“Fine,” he said, “so they’re not lying. Now what?” Castiel bit his lip, wary that he had swayed his friend so easily. He pushed the thought away.  
“We go to the Commisare,” he finally said.  
“We go to the Commisare,” Gabriel repeated with an air of amazement, “I don’t think lover boy’s green eyes are gonna work on him, chief.”  
“He must see reason,” Castiel said imploringly. The shorter hybrid sighed.  
“You and the older one can go later today,” Gabriel said, “but this wasn’t my idea, and it’s certainly not a god damn good one.”  
A doctor walked up to the room and entered it. A moment later, Dean emerged, shutting the door quietly behind them.   
“How’s it hangin’, Chuckles?” he gave Gabriel as a greeting. He looked exhausted. Gabriel snorted, patted Castiel on the shoulder, and made to leave. Dean shrugged and turned to Castiel, a look of worry passing over his face.  
“How about you, Cas?” he asked with a gentler tone, “how you holding up?”  
“I’m as well as I can be,” he replied, his wings rustling at the use of the nickname. Besides Gabriel, everyone called him Castiel. It left a strange hum in his bones. “We’re going to see the Commisare shortly.” Dean narrowed his eyes a bit at the word.  
“Oh,” he said, realizing this meant he was being taken to their leader, “well that sounds like a real treat.” He flashed a smile at the hybrid, one of his best if you asked him, earning only a curious look. Dean shook his head. “You’re not a social butterfly, I take it.”  
“I don’t normally engage in conversations with people,” Castiel said, swallowing hard at the fact that Dean was now a foot closer to him, “if that’s what you mean.”   
“That’s just too bad,” Dean said quietly, taking another step towards him. The walking stick clacked on the floor softly, letting its presence not be forgotten. The hybrid swallowed again, his wings tensing unconsciously.   
“Well,” Castiel had to try twice to get anything out, “perhaps I’ll be more vocal in our meeting with the Commisare.” Dean grinned wickedly.   
“Maybe I can help you to be more,” Dean paused about a foot away from Castiel’s face, which was now flushed red, “vocal.” The corner of his mouth curled up and his eyes roamed over the hybrid’s mouth. Castiel licked his lips automatically at the gesture.   
The door behind them opened noisily and both men jumped, not realizing how quiet it had become. Castiel blinked a few times and tried to regain a normal blood pressure level. Dean merely felt disappointed.  
“Dean?” the doctor asked looking between the two. Dean nodded at him. “Your brother is doing fine, except for the shattered kneecap which is causing intense pain. We’ve had to put him to sleep with morphine for the time being. He shouldn’t leave his bed for at least a week.”  
Dean’s expression became stony. Castiel shot him a worried glance.   
“Thanks, doc,” Dean said simply before gesturing to Castiel and limping down the hallway. “Let’s go talk to the head honcho.”  
Castiel caught up with him and together they left the hospital. On the main road, Castiel decided to throw caution to the cold winds and start a conversation. It was partially because he was genuinely curious about the man’s actions, but mainly because there was something about the man that implored Castiel to talk to him.  
“Why did you come warn us?” he asked. Dean looked at him questioningly.   
“Why?” he repeated, mulling it over. “Probably because I couldn’t stand the thought of all of you being slaughtered.” He said this as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Castiel frowned.  
“You could have died trying to bring this information to us,” he pointed out. Dean tilted his head.   
“Yeah,” he said finally. Castiel’s frown persisted, albeit more pronounced.   
“Why?” he asked again. This time, Dean laughed.  
“You know you ask a lot of questions,” he said. This warranted nothing but more staring from the blue eyed hybrid. Dean smiled gently. “I don’t know, man. But I’m glad I’m here.”  
He fell silent and set his gaze in front of him, being careful not to trip over the pebble encrusted sidewalk. Castiel decided to let it go for now. Clearly, the man’s intentions were being hidden for reasons unknown. He couldn’t bring himself to believe they were bad ones, so he was safe for the time being. Dean was clearly an man of honor and made his word to be taken as truth. In addition to judging his character, if Castiel didn’t know any better, he would have assumed Dean had been attempting to make a pass at him. True, whenever he found himself staring at the hardened jaw line dotted with stubble or the green eyes that had been spattered with flecks of gold, Castiel would need to remind himself that taking in air was crucial to his survival, but truly the hybrid had no god damn clue how to flirt back.  
Meanwhile, Dean began to let his thoughts drift to the curious behavior of the hybrid. He had talked to people who couldn’t recognize social cues, but this guy was completely and utterly blind to anything. Idly, he toyed with the idea that maybe Castiel didn’t know what it was like to be flirted with. Or maybe Dean was barking up the wrong tree. Either way, he needed an answer stat because the thought of the perfectly constructed man not being underneath him was becoming unbearable. 

Shortly after their conversation, it began to rain. It started as a light drizzle, spraying everything it hit with a fine mist, but soon it was steady. The pair turned up the collars to their respective coats and quickened their pace. Soon enough, their destination came into view.   
The village hall was indistinguishable from the other pale stone buildings around it. There were no defining characteristics other than a worn wooden sign on the front door that read “COMMISARE”. When they reached the foot of the three deep stone stairs, Castiel stopped and straightened his coat. He made to take the first step but paused and looked at Dean, tilting his head and studying him. He was unkempt, his clothes wrinkled from sleeping in chair and his hair stood up at all angles but the right ones. Castiel pursed his lips slightly and began smoothing it down. Dean froze.  
“What are you…what is this?” he asked as the hybrid continued to pat his head. The rain water that had settled there made it much simpler. For his own amusement, Castiel pushed the hair on the top of his head to one side, making him seem much more respectable.   
“You look like a tatterdemalion,” Castiel said, now straightening the man’s shirt collar.  
“A what?” Dean asked.  
“You look bedraggled,” Castiel tried again.  
“I look…” Dean trailed off.  
“You look like shit, Dean,” Castiel said evenly. Dean’s eyes widened. He let out a disbelieving laugh as Castiel finished his preening and pushed open the door.   
Inside was no different from the outside. The paint on the walls was peeling and the dingy red carpet could have used a good scrub. In front of them was a large wooden desk that spanned the width of the room, dividing it into two parts. Behind it was a petite blonde hybrid who was deeply engrossed in a hand held video game. Her ivory wings were tucked neatly around her, making the need for a heating unit unnecessary.   
“Hello, Meg,” Castiel said, making her jump. One look at the tall man before her and her face split into a grin, her wings shivering.  
“Cassie!” she cried, throwing her game clean across the desk, “what can I do for you today?” As she said this, her arms folded gracefully across her chest and she leaned forward, showing off her choice assets. Dean rolled his eyes. If Castiel couldn’t see that this girl wanted to jump all of his bones right there on that desk, Dean was shit out of luck in the woo Castiel department.   
“I need to speak with the Commisare,” he said, employing the same stoic tone he used when explaining how the weather was acting on a particular day. Dean nearly stumbled back in shock.   
“Sure thing, doll,” Meg purred, pressing a button on her phone. “Commisare, Castiel requests an audience. He’s brought a human with him.” A voice cut through the air sharply stating that it was perfectly acceptable and to let them in. She pushed another button and a door behind her opened in a way that did not resemble grace.  
Castiel nodded his gratitude and headed through the door, beckoning Dean to follow him. The man stared after him a moment before doing so, still preoccupied by the thought that maybe he had a chance with the hybrid. It was entirely too obvious that Castiel had no clue what romantic interaction was, so Dean would just have to hold his hand the entire way.  
Dean caught up with Castiel in the long hallway.   
“Dude, that girl wants you, but hard,” he laughed.   
“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, genuinely concerned he should go back and see what Meg wanted.  
“Seriously?” Dean replied. When it was clear that Castiel had exactly zero clues as to what Dean was getting at, he sighed and put the car into park.   
”Jeez, man, she wanted to have sex with you,” he explained with an air of incredible patience he had never shown before.  
Castiel would have blushed furiously, but that wasn’t the kind of man he was, so he babbled like an idiot instead.  
“You can’t tell me you’ve never noticed before,” Dean said.  
“Those thoughts don’t cross my mind often,” Castiel admitted, “suffice it to say, I never notice when it crosses others’.”   
Dean merely nodded, a peculiar smirk on his face. Castiel furrowed his brow, unsure if he should feel embarrassed or not. Before he could make a decision, they turned a corner to face a large door with the word “COMMISARE” emblazoned above it. Castiel pushed it open and the two men stepped inside. The Commisare’s office was brightly lit and significantly better kept than the rest of the building. A window on the far side of the room allowed sunlight to filter through relentlessly.   
“Castiel,” came a warm voice from the desk. The owner was the Commisare himself, a handsome man who looked to be in late 30s. He had short blonde hair with a neat beard to match. His eyes were small and bright, a paler shade of blue than most hybrids. At the moment, he looked incredibly overworked.   
“Hello, Balthazar,” Castiel greeting, with a small smile.   
“And who is your friend?” Balthazar asked amiably. Dean traced the hybrid’s subtle accent to the region west of Russia, near the Great Isles of the United Kingdom. It was starkly different than the normal regional accent the rest of the village had.  
“This is Dean Winchester,” Castiel offered, moving slightly so Dean could move forward. He stepped lightly, his walking stick muffled by the carpet. He raised a hand up in salutation. The two hybrids stared at him. Dean needed no more prompting and cleared his throat.  
“I’m from the 107th division of the U.S. Forces stationed in Russia,” he began, “we were placed in a newly constructed outpost about ten miles from here. Me and my brother were there for a couple weeks before we found out they were planning on invading a city about a hundred miles east of here. On the way, they were going to destroy every town they came across and this was their first stop.”  
Balthazar tilted his head and considered this, his light yellow wings resting easily around him.   
“What do you suggest we do, then, Mr. Winchester?” he finally asked.  
“I say you guys pack up and get the hell out of Dodge,” Dean replied. Balthazar leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.  
“Leave?” he repeated. “You want one thousand of us, mostly children and elderly, to just pack up our bags and leave? Where would we go?” Dean shifted uncomfortably and chanced a look at Castiel. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He had been so wrapped up in his knight in shining armor role that he’d completely forgotten to come up with a plan. He mentally kicked himself; he usually wasn’t this dim.  
“Um…” he fumbled.   
“Exactly, you have no fucking clue,” Balthazar shot, leaning forward again and placing his hands on the desk, “and neither do I. I’m going to blindly take your word for it since I trust Castiel, and if indeed a whole platoon of U.S. Forces is arriving at our gates come morning, we are all royally screwed.” He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dean was taken aback, determined to help but entirely unsure how.  
“Well then we’ll fight,” he said suddenly. Castiel and Balthazar looked at him in disbelief. The Commisare let out a laugh and Castiel just stared at Dean with a fierce look that was genuinely unreadable. When Balthazar was certain the human wasn’t joking, he stopped, the smile still gracing his face.   
“Where in the hell did you find him, Castiel?” he asked. The hybrid didn’t answer, still fixing Dean with that same piercing look. He snapped out of it after Dean cleared his throat, having the good grace to look ashamed. Balthazar shook his head in disbelief, although the ghost of a smile was still there.   
“Well,” he began, “I won’t abandon my village on such short notice. So as asinine as your idea is, Dean, we have no choice but to try and fight them.” Dean hesitated.  
“Do we have a chance?” he asked. Balthazar looked on him with pity.  
“No,” he said, “I don’t think we do.”

The Commisare of Orlovsky banged his tumbler of vodka on the table for the umpteenth time that evening.   
“That leaves us wide open to an assault from the western gate,” he cried.   
The village had not been set up to withstand an assault of this nature, a fact all three men had quickly learned. Dean was working on his fifth scotch and Castiel was still nursing his bottle of Stoli, a fact that just Dean was appreciating with much gusto. So far, they had come up with as many plans of action as there were deer that could fly.   
Balthazar had sent out word quickly throughout the village, urging the hybrids to begin packing and separating into groups of fifty or so. There was a small hybrid town twenty miles to their north that he had done business with on more than one occasion. After a heated argument with its leader, Balthazar had convinced them to let their village migrate there as refugees. Any survivors left from tomorrow’s battle would join up later, provided there were any.   
It only took two hours to come up with a decent plan, one that would at least fend off the U.S. Forces long enough to give the refugees time to escape. Twenty miles wasn’t the worst trek, but when it was being made by eight hundred terrified hybrids, it became considerably more precarious.   
At around midnight, they adjourned. Balthazar intended on powering through the rest of the night to make sure everything was ready for the morning. The Commisare insisted they both rest because tomorrow would demand more from them than anything ever had.   
The village was quiet when they stepped out on the street. The rain had stopped and had been replaced with a fine flurry of snow. It seemed too peaceful to be the eve of a battle that could be their last. Dean’s scotch finally smacked him in the face and he stumbled over a particularly slippery patch of ice. Castiel caught him under the arm and pulled him back up, giggling.   
“You should stay at my place tonight,” he rumbled with the likeness of a storm. Dean’s breath hitched and he looked at the hybrid with surprise.   
“Only because,” Castiel said quickly, not wanting to seem too forward, “the hospital is much further and my house is not as far and tomorrow will be very awful.” He was swaying slightly. Dean laughed to himself, now supporting the hybrid.  
“Whatever you say, angel-boy,” he murmured, “lead the way.” Castiel stumbled off into the dark, Dean limping by his side. For a while, they walked in silence.  
“What’s with you, Dean?” Castiel asked suddenly, feeling his usual shyness ebb away. He let his guard down, something that was becoming a common thing around Dean.   
“What do you mean?” It was Dean’s turn to feel confused. He tried to not feel like a ten car highway wreck being rubbernecked at. He failed.  
“I mean, what makes you want to stand and fight?” Castiel clarified. Dean froze up at the question, unsure of how to answer. It seemed like such a natural instinct to fight that he never stopped to notice that Castiel, and indeed the village of Orlovsky, wasn’t human.   
“I just didn’t see any other option,” he said simply, “you’re saying fighting never crossed your mind?”  
“No,” Castiel said honestly, “as a race, hybrids are peaceful. We are more likely to submit to a threat than to fight it.” Dean nodded in understanding.   
“Humans are the exact opposite,” he observed.   
“I’ve noticed,” the hybrid said with a sly smile, casting him a sideways look, “every time something comes to light that you find undesirable, you fight it to your death.” He paused and tilted his head, the same fierce look in his eyes that was there earlier. “It’s actually quite admirable.” Dean laughed at this.  
“I don’t know if fighting everything that’s different is admirable,” Dean said skeptically. Castiel shrugged and looked at him.  
“But you,” he said, shaking his head, “you seem to fight because of an injustice. And not an injustice against you, but against a completely different race. I find it strange, is all.” Dean chuckled, mostly to himself.  
“It’s wrong,” he began, “to destroy a race or species just because they’re different, especially when they’re no threat to you.”  
They arrived at Castiel’s house and paused for a moment while he unlocked the door and let them both inside. Dean closed the door behind them and leaned the walking stick against the couch before falling into it, throwing his head back against the soft pillows, wanting nothing more than to sleep. Preferably with-  
“I want to save you,” Dean said suddenly. Castiel removed his coat and loosened his tie, collapsing in the chair opposite. “I want to save all of you. And I want to do it because what the hell kind of person would I be if just sat back and did nothing?” Castiel fixed him with that odd, ardent look again, the one that made him wonder how the hybrid couldn’t hold the entire univer-  
Stop it, Dean.  
For a moment, they just sat there looking at each other. Dean was lounging with his arms spread across the back of the sofa, his injured leg stretched out on the table in front of him. His jacket was unzipped, revealing a tight fitting white shirt underneath. He had the beginnings of a beard, as he hadn’t had time to shave in several days. Castiel was sitting straight up in the chair, his hands clasped in his lap. His head was leaning to the left, his chin jutting forward slightly, eyes narrowed in either thought or curiosity. He blinked a few time and noticed Dean’s gaze had become more pronounced.   
“We should sleep,” he said, standing up suddenly. He grabbed a blanket from the closet behind them and handed it to Dean, who carefully made sure that his fingers grazed the back of the hybrid’s hand. It made his feathers stand on end and sent fire through his muscles. Dean felt a shiver run through his veins and involuntarily leaned his head back.  
“Good night, Dean,” Castiel said finally, making his way quickly to his room. After shutting his door with a mighty kick, he tore off his tie and sent it flying across the room. He found himself in the bathroom, white shirt unbuttoned and fluttering around him. In the mirror, a flushed man looked back at him, pupils blown for some reason. Castiel decided it was because of the lighting and went to bed completely ignoring the fact that he had never experienced such a strong desire to completely dominate someone before.   
“Night, Cas,” Dean said a while later as he let his body make itself at home on the couch. He closed his eyes and took comfort in the fact that he had never seen anyone more painfully aroused than the man in the room next to him.


End file.
